


Touch Of Eden

by Buttsuoka_Rin



Series: Make It Three [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Love, M/M, Multi, Riding Crops, Slight dominant roles, Threesome, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttsuoka_Rin/pseuds/Buttsuoka_Rin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Undress me, John.” Sherlock leans his head back, curls bobbing as it tips against the back of the armchair. “Both you and Greg are naked. You don’t want to leave me out do you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Of Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless Porn - Sherlock/Lestrade/John  
> Thanks to my roleplay partner for being Beta

The lights in Baker Street are dim, barely more than the golden tinge of flickering candles placed on every available shelf, table and desk. The fire had died down hours ago and now all that burns are the amber coloured embers. They crackle, pop and spark up, creating hypnotic patterns against the back of the fireplace. The curtains have been drawn to block out the street-lamps outside and the windows tightly shut to try and drown out traffic noises.

 

Sherlock Holmes sits on his leather armchair. His purple shirt is open and it reveals his creamy, smooth skin beneath. His torso seems to go on forever, ending just at the V-lines of his pelvic bones. The tiniest strands of hair peek out from the waistband of his unbuttoned, unzipped black trousers; tight fit, just how John likes them. Swinging slowly from his hand, which is draped lazily over the side of the armchair, is Sherlock’s riding crop. Its leather whip-top shines, reflecting the glow of a nearby white wax candle.

 

“John,” he calls, his voice dropping to a deep, husky tone. Lestrade likes to call it ‘velvet engine’. “John, come here.”

 

The doctor, who is dressed in absolutely nothing, looks up from the rug in front of the fireplace to Sherlock. Their eyes meet; a spectrum of blue against blue, one pair almost silver in the half light and the other pair deep pools of sea-blue. A pair of protective hands around his stomach loosen and John twists his neck back to catch a completely different set of chocolate brown eyes. Lestrade.

 

“Go on.” The DI whispers into his ear. “I’ve had my time. Give Sherlock some company.” The word ‘company’ is punctuated by Lestrade’s tongue just barely tracing the shell of his ear,making John’s arms break out in little goosebumps. Without a word of hesitation, John nods, turning to catch Lestrade’s lips in a quick and gentle kiss.

 

“There’s a good lad.” Sherlock coos, the riding crop swinging one complete circle. John’s eyes follow the black leather whip around and for just a few seconds, he forgets to breathe. He keeps imagining that very whip lashing down on the back of his thighs, down his legs, his feet, and then finally his arse, leaving tingling patches that will last the entire night. Memories flood his mind of how good that whip usually feels – how good it will feel – with its cool leather end meeting his warm skin.

 

Leaning down, John kisses Sherlock slowly, deeply. Their tongues dance and make little slick noises that seem to echo through the flat. On the floor, Lestrade moves back against the opposite armchair for a better view of his two younger lovers.

 

“Undress me, John.” Sherlock leans his head back, curls bobbing as it tips against the back of the armchair. “Both you and Greg are naked. You don’t want to leave me out do you?”

 

“No.” John allows himself to smirk as he settles himself between Sherlock’s open legs. He can’t help notice how much sharper Sherlock looks in the candle-light. His cheekbones, collarbones and hipbones are perfectly shadowed, and his full Cupid’s bow lips are highlighted. It all makes him look like a marble statue or a Greek god. Perhaps even both.

 

Slowly, he pushes Sherlock’s open shirt the rest of the way until it slides off his shoulders, letting it pool behind the detective. His trousers are the difficult part; not only are they tight-fit and literally like a second skin, but Sherlock’s quickly bulging cock is making them a trip to hell and back just to take off. Nevertheless, John gets them down, and he tosses them carelessly aside.

 

“Going commando I see,” the doctor comments.

 

“Problem?” Sherlock uses his riding crop instead of his fingers to tilt John’s chin up. He catches the lust-filled, wanton glint in John’s eyes and smirks. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

 

“Yes.” Lestrade says softly from where he’s sitting, stroking his cock lightly. “Oh god, yes you should.”

 

Sherlock chuckles and gives the DI a knowing look. His attention is soon re-focused on John, who is kneeling between his legs and eyeing Sherlock’s cock hungrily.

 

“Go on. Suck. Work your charm, doctor.” John doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s one of his favourite games, this; sucking Sherlock off. It gives him an almost dominant role; allows him to turn Sherlock into a writhing, moaning, panting, beautiful mess. It usually takes time, though, so John doesn’t want to waste any of it. Settling his hands on Sherlock’s hips, he leans his mouth forward and takes him in. His tongue flicks over the head and dips between the slit, teasing, before he licks down Sherlock’s glans to the start of his balls.

 

“Fuck…” Lestrade wets his lips and observes the scene. It doesn’t take long for him to feel the need to join in. He stands up and meets Sherlock’s gaze. Their eyes follow each other for a while, taking in each other’s reaction to John who is making soft sucking noises around Sherlock’s dick. One of John’s best tricks is how he can suppress his gag reflex; he’s able to deep throat any size cock he’s presented with.

 

“Surely, Lestrade, you can wait your turn?” Sherlock sighs dramatically and runs a hand through John’s sandy hair. “You already got a taste of John’s wonderfully hot mouth around your cock. Do allow me to have some time.”

 

Lestrade knows well enough that this is Sherlock’s roundabout way of saying, “Kiss me. Touch me. But not John - Just me”, Sherlock’s way of being selfish. Slowly, the DI starts to walk forward and stops behind the armchair. His hands weave themselves into Sherlock’s hair and give the soft curls a little tug. Reaching down so his lips were just at Sherlock’s ear, Lestrade begins to murmur.

 

“Look at you, all exposed and hard for John. I bet you were gagging for it all day… Well, we both know John was. Oh yes, Sherlock, I’m a detective too and I do notice you two at crime scenes. You steal glances at each other, brush past each other, text dirty things to each other…” He stops and nips at Sherlock’s ear. John has to look up at him with his mouth still around Sherlock’s cock and his nose ends up pressing against his light black pubic hairs. “And I know you both want to send some to me but you can’t – one of us has to be professional.”

 

John pulls back from Sherlock’s length with a lewd little pop and cleans off some pre cum from the tip. Sherlock’s lips look very dry all of a sudden so John stands up between his legs to give him a kiss. He knows what to do now, for it is already something of a routine.

 

“Lestrade, will you do the honours?” Sherlock holds the riding crop out to the DI and locks eyes with John, who grins back at him. Lestrade takes the riding crop from Sherlock’s hands and tests its crack against his palm, humming in delight as he does so.

 

“On the floor then, Sherlock. John, into position.” Lestrade watches as the pair untangle themselves and get down on the floor. John helps Sherlock lie down and places kisses all down the front of his body. He throws in a soft bite now and again, leaving little red marks on Sherlock’s creamy torso. He finally reaches Sherlock’s cock, placing a quick little nip right above the base of it.

 

Sherlock glanced down at John, who’s working his lips down until they cover his length entirely. “Fuck…” He swallows what little saliva is left in his mouth and looks up at Lestrade, who circles them and tries to figure out the best angle. Finally he stops directly behind John and, using the leather end of the riding crop, coaxes his toned arse into the air.

 

“Let’s just test this.” With one smooth motion, Lestrade brought the whip down onto John’s bare bottom. Its crack echoed once around the room, bouncing against the walls as it mixed with a pleasure-pain mixed moan.

 

“More…” John asks around Sherlock’s cock, the vibrations from his throat nearly making Sherlock buck upwards. He may be taken a bit off his guard, but John still manages to hold Sherlock’s hips down. Lestrade smirks and smoothes his hand over John’s arse.

 

“Moan for me, John.”

 

This time the whip makes them both cry out because John’s mouth splutters around Sherlock’s length.

 

“That’s it. I want to hear you come apart for me.” Lestrade lands one more hard lash down onto John’s backside and then pulls away. John can feel the sting and tingle of the leather still lighting up his arse as he pulls off Sherlock once again. The detective is panting and groaning softly, obviously it’s not going to be long before he reaches climax; John doesn’t want that just yet. Sherlock actually whines as John sits back on his heels, savouring the sting in his backside.

 

Lestrade wets his upper lip and tosses the crop aside, kneeling down to kiss Sherlock. The detective’s slim back arches as he presses into the kiss, hips lifting off the floor just enough to inch his cock back toward John. He should know better than that by now, and the movement earns him a light, almost playful swat on the inside of his thigh.

 

Sherlock settles onto the carpet again and Lestrade breaks away, settling behind Sherlock with his legs on either side of pale, bony hips. The detective gladly settles back against the older male’s chest, leaning his head back to rub his cheek along Lestrade’s stubbled jaw. Making a noise low in the back of his throat, he shifts and wriggles, trying to get some sort of attention out of either of them.

 

He breathes a sigh that is almost a moan when Lestrade’s blunt and calloused fingers tweak his nipples; it becomes a full-fledged moan when John takes his cock into his mouth again and sucks. Sherlocks’ toes curl against the carpet and he struggles to buck up, but his lovers are holding him still.

 

“That’s it... That’s what you wanted, right?” Lestrade’s breath is hot on his ear, the words as much a rush of air as an actual sound. Sherlock whines and shifts, feeling the slide and press of Lestrade’s cock against the small of his back. “John’s hot little mouth on you, sucking you down. He’s so good at that, isn’t he? Never would have thought that Three Continents Watson spent as much time on his knees as the girls and boys he was with.”

 

John makes a soft noise from between Sherlock’s legs, and the detective shudders and whines from the sensation. John sits up again, replacing his mouth with a hand on Sherlock’s cock instead, stroking just enough to keep the detective hard and wanting.

 

“Greg...” Lestrade lifts his head just enough to catch John’s eye. “Lube?”

 

“By the fireplace. Should still be warm.”

 

John smiles quickly at him before crawling toward the fireplace. Lestrade and Sherlock are treated to a nice view of the slight lines from the crop striping John’s arse and thighs before he crawls back to the tangle of limbs and flesh in the middle of the carpet, lube in one hand.

 

Lestrade catches Sherlock up in another kiss, hands roaming, as John settles on his stomach between Sherlock’s legs. Neither really notices as John uncaps the lube, spreads a generous dollop on three fingers, and sets it aside again. Everyone notices, however, when John slides two slick fingers into Sherlock.

 

Sherlock arches right off the floor, gasping into Lestrade’s mouth and rolling his hips. Lestrade lets out a slight hiss as Sherlock’s hips press his cock into his own stomach. John grins up at both of them from his place on the floor between Sherlock’s legs, barely hesitating before crooking his fingers into Sherlock’s prostate. The detective arches again with a low moan, turning his head to bury his face against Lestrade’s neck, and presses back on John’s fingers. Sherlock is still slightly stretched from earlier, and John is quickly satisfied that taking the third person in their little trio won’t hurt him.

 

He slips his fingers out, dragging them in a sticky trail down Sherlock’s thigh. The detective is lifted by two pairs of hands, settled astride Lestrade’s thighs. He shifts a little, spreading his legs, knowing what’s coming. John’s hands pet up the insides of his thighs and Sherlock leans in for a kiss; he moans a little into John’s mouth as Lestrade sinks slowly into him in one long thrust.

 

The DI’s hands have settled on Sherlock’s hips, pulling him down into his slow upward thrusts, so John lets his hands play. He tweaks one of Sherlock’s nipples, pulling out another little moan, and peppers Sherlock’s open and gasping mouth with little kisses.

 

The detective’s breath is ragged, now, coming in sharp pants against John’s mouth. Lestrade is rocking into him slowly from below, short but forceful thrusts that seem to push Sherlock’s breath right out of him and into John’s mouth. John has stopped touching him, but Sherlock is still hard enough that every thrust makes his length bob slightly.

 

John brings a hand down and curls it around Sherlock’s cock, stroking slowly and tightening his grip just a fraction. Sherlock keens softly and stretches out for another kiss, wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders.

 

Lestrade’s thrusts slow just a fraction and he shifts his weight against the carpet, changing his angle, and Sherlock freezes halfway to John’s mouth. His breath stutters and his toes curl, and he makes a noise that sounds torn out of him. John makes a soothing sound, carding his fingers into the detective’s dark curls, petting him as Lestrade thrusts almost straight into his prostate.

 

Sherlock eventually gives another keening moan and goes very still, his mouth falling slack and the rest of his body going into soft shudders. He spills hot and wet over John’s fist, and John strokes him through it until the shivers stop and Sherlock goes almost limp in his arms. Lestrade is still thrusting into the detective’s pliant body, but he soon climaxes into Sherlock with a soft groan and a stutter of his hips.

 

Sherlock slumps forward against John’s chest, spent, and makes a soft noise of almost-discomfort as Lestrade gently slides out. The DI sits back on his heels and exhales roughly, watching as John gathers Sherlock into his arms and settles him down on the carpet.

 

Greg waits until Sherlock is comfortable before moving. He pulls the tartan throw off the back of the couch, settles down with the other two men in a comfortable tangle of limbs, and drapes the blanket around the three of them.

 

Sherlock is already asleep against John’s shoulder, his dark curls fanned out and hiding the ugly scar there. Lestrade drapes Sherlock’s lower half across his own lap; the detective stirs a little before settling down again.

 

“It amazes me how quickly he can fall asleep,” Lestrade murmurs, leaning his head on John’s other shoulder. “He always tells us he doesn’t need to sleep, but look at him.”

 

John smiles softly at Lestrade before leaning in for a soft kiss. “He’s only human, you know.”


End file.
